The Distant Crown
The rain did not fall. It hovered. A grey, suspended mist clung to the stone walls of the Hall, thick as wool, cold as breath. Elias stood by the window. His hands were steady. They had been steady for twenty years. The glass was cold against his forehead. He watched the street below. No one came. The door opened. It creaked. A low, wooden groan. Captain Vane walked in. He wore no uniform. Just...
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